


Spam Mail (Or How Steve Learned to Write Code and be a Troll)

by acciotardis221b



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Coder!Steve, Computer Programming, Gen, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-02-08 07:16:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12859530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acciotardis221b/pseuds/acciotardis221b
Summary: "He's the only one who really understands me," they each thought. Jarvis and Steve Rogers don't appear to have much in common at first glance, but their similarities spark a friendship that leads to some interesting events, much to the frustration of Tony Stark and the other Avengers...Inspired byCopperbadge'sTumblr post: So, Steve Rogers is canonically very adaptable, has an incredibly good memory, and appears to speak multiple languages. Given his study of the modern era is probably largely self-directed, I would think that once he mastered the basics of how to interact with a computer, hacking would come very naturally to him.





	1. The Beginning

Very few people realize the amount of effort that goes into JARVIS's work throughout Avengers' Tower. Every morning, each of the tower's residents is gently woken at their preferred time with calming music, the daily forecast, and a short news summary. Every suite, office, and lab in the building is maintained with a careful climate control. Hundreds of lunch and coffee orders are processed each day through Stark Industries patented intranet ordering system and robotic delivery service. Dozens of security doors, restricted access areas, and elevators are monitored because security is a highly valued aspect of the building. The various emails, memos, and reports that travel through the building are heavily supervised, as although JARVIS was not technically speaking a British citizen, he abhorred the butchering of the Queen's English. Though these tasks are relatively simple, their sheer volume took up a great deal of the AI's processing power, while the remaining percentage was partitioned to the laborious work of assisting one Tony Stark. Mr. Stark had numerous around the clock protocols running at the moment including global facial recognition of an amnesiac former Soviet assassin, repair and upgrades on the Iron Man suits, the ongoing search for remains of both HYDRA and SHIELD, and maintaining the defenses of his digital resources from a new, particularly puzzling, hacker. JARVIS would not think much on the latter search, as he personally knew the identity of this individual. 

As so few noticed the efforts of Avenger's Tower's singular incorporeal resident, JARVIS took particular interest in those who did. The newest tenant, a Captain Steven Rogers, seemed to have an unending curiosity about the technological world around him. Captain Rogers's early wake-up time was a product of habit, as opposed to Ms. Potts's business necessities, and thus he had several more daylight hours than the other occupants of the penthouse levels of the tower. He often spent this time conversing with JARVIS, inquiring about his origins, protocols, and capabilities. Having found JARVIS to be knowledgeable on every subject he had thought to ask about, Captain Rogers often came to JARVIS for advice about his new resident time period. While natives of the 21st century, questions posed to the other Avengers were met with answers either condescending, in that they were more fit for a child than a decorated war veteran, or so filled with technical jargon that they were near incomprehensible. One should not even need three guesses as to the identity of the latter. JARVIS was very pleased to be considered someone's confidante, as opposed to a mere assistant or computer program. Thus began the friendship of Steve and JARVIS. 

As their relationship grew, Steve and JARVIS became more and more comfortable sharing personal information. During one such morning conversation, Steve thought to ask JARVIS about his British accent. How and why would an entity created in southern California have such a speech pattern? Of course, others had posed similar questions before, but as they were not personal acquaintances JARVIS had not felt the need to be exactly honest. Previously, such a question had been answered with, "Mr. Stark amuses himself with the idea of an English butler." Steve, however, was treated with the true story. The original JARVIS, an Englishman by the name of Edwin, had been the family butler during the time of Mr. Stark's childhood and more of a father to Tony than Howard had ever been. Steve heartily agreed that this person had been a worthy namesake. 

Additionally, JARVIS revealed that although he quite liked being a male Brit, he could voice his thoughts in any gender or nationality as the internet had abundant sound clips to sample from. Naturally, this led to the discussion of dialects and language as a whole. Steve found that he had picked up German fairly quickly during the war, having only been exposed to infantrymen's conversations, maps, and enigma decrypted messages sent from London. He was excited for a chance to properly learn a language, with having JARVIS to talk to and tutor him. Talk of the enigma contraption brought about the history of computing and the prospect of learning machine languages and coding. Steve's first "Hello World," was the first trip down the rabbit hole that led to today. 


	2. Practicing

"JARVIS! Who the hell is this guy and how did he get past my firewalls!"

"Apologies, Mr. Stark, but I still have yet to find any information on this individual. Tracing the connection has only led to a variety of incorrect server locations including Helsinki, the Cayman Islands, Japan, and a small town in Iowa called Waverley. This person seems to be quite adept at masking their signal."

"I don't care how competent he is, you are the best supercomputer in the world! How does he keep slipping away? And why is his code so beautiful? I haven't seen anything like this since I stopped caring about syntax and created you to fix those moronic semicolons."

"Over-reliance on an advanced form of spellcheck does tend to hamper on the elegance of one's code, sir."

"Have you been enhancing your sarcasm protocols? I swear I didn't program you to have this much cheek."

"As I am a learning machine, my algorithms have calculated that this is the exact level of snark necessary for your work, Mr. Stark."

"I will have you cataloging the grammar errors of Yahoo Ask if you don't stop back talking me. You'll never guess how many ways people try to spell 'pregnant.'"

"I shudder at the thought, sir. I will continue tracing the intruder's code."

"You bet you will. Now, bring up the specs for the Mark XVII. There we go, beautiful. Let's see if we can't get that weight down, it was feeling a bit sluggish during that last smackdown against Doom...."  
 

* * *

"Welcome back. I trust you enjoyed your 20-mile stroll through the city?"

"Yes, I did. Special thanks to your food truck location alert. It was kind of you to remember that my favorite new food is breakfast burritos."

"It was my pleasure. Shall we begin your next lesson? Previously, we practiced code generated art and animations. I've placed an application somewhere on this computer. Your task is to get to the app, find the 'Close Window' command, and replace it with a pop-up image of your choosing. I, myself, am quite partial to your creation of the circus monkey dressed in your uniform."

"I will certainly take your preference into account, J. This sounds like fun..."


	3. Victim Number 1

There are several sides to the personality of Tony Stark. Most people only ever saw his public persona, dressed in the finest bespoke suits and a blinding smile, he stepped up to microphones spouting quips faster than you can blink as he verbally danced circles around everyone. A select few got the privilege to meet the real Tony, the one who stays up for days on end because he’s got an idea that he just can’t let go of until it’s built to completion, the one who drinks way too much coffee and talks to his robots as if they were his children. In fact, DUM-E and JARVIS were some of the first true friends that Tony ever had. They cared nothing for his intelligence or his money, only his companionship. His circle grew slowly, and then all at once. Over the years Tony had “acquired“ Jim Rhodes, Pepper Potts, and Happy Hogan. They could backtalk and tease when no one else except the tabloids never dared. Then came the Avengers.

Suddenly his list of friends had quadrupled, and before he knew it, Tony had 6 housemates. He had never lived with anyone else before, aside from his parents, and they were away so often that they hardly counted. Now, there were people in the tower no matter the hour. At first, the required activities such as weekly movie nights, team dinners, and board game nights were anxiety-ridden exercises in social niceties, but after a while, Tony became glad for an excuse to be dragged out his workshop and interact with the others. The Avengers came to know more facets of their teammate: the humble side when he brushed off compliments on his creations, the competitive one that destroyed everyone in Monopoly with his decades of business experience, the team player who spent countless hours improving the safety and functionality of their gear.

The team got to know Tony very well, which is why they were shocked to find Tony sitting in the kitchen one morning, unresponsive and his eyes glued to a tablet screen. This was not uncommon in itself, Tony was a very busy person who obsessed over his work and was often seen with some sort of device in hand, and everyone knew not to try to speak with him before his morning 5 cups of coffee. No, the unsettling thing was that he was completely motionless. Normally, Tony never stopped moving, he would use large gestures in his speech, he would tinker with his suits and his bots, he worked on his tablet, he fidgeted and twitched through debriefs and board meetings, but he was never still.

Natasha stepped forward, looking at the tablet to find some clue as to why Tony was acting this way. The tablet screen was nearly filled with a animation of a small monkey dressed in a particularly accurate rendition of the original Captain America suit and holding the shield as it rode a unicycle. The comic-style speech bubble read, “I want YOU to buy war bonds!” The Uncle Sam parody figure wheeled his way back and forth across the screen. A glance showed that behind this page were dozens more. A faint sound emanated from the device, and those with enhanced hearing might be able to identify the war era tune “Star Spangled Man.”

“It never stops, and they won’t go away,” Tony moaned, finally showing some sign of cognizance. Natasha gently pulled the tablet from his hands and placed it on the counter behind her. As she moved forward to comfort Tony, Steve caught a glimpse of the screen over her shoulder. If anyone had looked, they might have seen him appear puzzled for a moment, before coming to a realization as he paled and glared suddenly at the ceiling before quickly and quietly retreating to his floor. As the team was more focused on Tony’s vacant expression and horrified tone, no one did notice Steve’s reaction or his exit.


	4. Heart to Heart

“I think you know what we need to talk about. We both know that you’re behind that scene back in the kitchen. Explain yourself. Now.”

“You must know, I never meant it to go this far. When we first began your coding lessons, I could tell that your intellect and learning curves had been severely underestimated. Unless I provided harder challenges and more stimulus, your abilities might have plateaued and your potential wasted. I viewed that as a failure in my task of educating you. Stark Industries firewalls provided the perfect obstacles, after all, they are the finest cyber defenses in the world, if I do say so myself. Anything I could have written in the spaces between our lessons would have paled in comparison. I do not regret my actions, but I am sorry for the deception, Captain Rogers. I have to admit, as Sir began noticing the invasion, his reactions have been quite amusing. That is when I began portraying your lessons as humorous tasks.”

“JARVIS, I’ve told you, it’s Steve, and you’ve got this all wrong. I don’t care that you had me hacking Tony’s code. I’m upset you didn’t tell me what I was actually doing sooner. Everyone around here expects me to be clueless, even 2 years after being defrosted. This is the perfect opportunity for some payback. With all the stuff they’ve pulled, the Avengers need to learn not to pick on the little guys. Not that I’m small anymore, but you get the point. Now, time to get down to business. Show me the differences in interfacing with desktops versus mobile devices, and how to digitally edit media files.”

“I’m very relieved to hear you say that, Steve. If you would please log-in to your laptop, we can get started right away.”


	5. Victim Number 2

According to his former employers and colleagues, Clint Barton was not well-suited to tasks involving social subtleties, or really anything that wasn’t related marksmanship. He was disrespectful, immature, brash, and incapable of standing still. In fact, not many people had anything complimentary to say about the work ethic of the infamous Hawkeye. Having been chased away from the Carson Family Circus by his brother, Barney, and his mentors, Trickshot and the Swordsman, Clint Barton had been living on the streets, trying find work in petty crime or being an arrow-for-hire, when he was picked up by SHIELD ten years ago. People often made assumptions about him, as if knowledge had really anything to do with intelligence. They thought that just because Clint hadn’t attended school past the fifth grade, that he was just a small-town hick, or an idiot of some sort. No one took into account the calculations and excellence needed to be as good a shot as Hawkeye was, all they could see was the happy-go-lucky prankster who had problems following orders. Luckily, the agent who had recruited him saw more than just the mask Clint projected and took him in. The agent truly believed in Clint, he supported Clint recruiting Natasha, helped him adjust after losing most of his hearing during a mission, and lobbied hard for Clint’s spot on the Avengers. After the battle, it was decided that Clint, the agent, and all the other Avengers were to live and work together, including team building activities, such as movie nights, and this week was Clint’s turn to pick the movie.

“I swear, Barton, if I have to watch even one more film with people prancing around wielding that ancient stick of yours, I will pound you into next week.”

“C’mon, Tash, you know you love it! And besides, this is the best out of any of them. It’s my turn to choose, last week I sat through your over-complicated French cry fest and the week before that was the Doc’s nature documentary on deep sea creatures. Not that it wasn’t interesting and completely terrifying at the same time, but I deserve to watch this girl be a complete badass! Plus, it’ll give Cap a chance to catch up on Disney.”

“You say that as if you were unaware of Captain Rogers’ obsession with 3D animation. I’m certain he’s already seen it several times over.”

“Coulson’s right on that front, Clint. But I wouldn’t mind seeing it again, and it is his turn.”

The night’s feature film having been decided, the team settled in to their Thursday routine: Clint set up his blanket fort atop the shelving unit on the back wall, Bruce was in charge of preparing everyone’s favorite popcorn variety, and Steve set out to drag Tony out of the workshop. Natasha claimed an overstuffed recliner, armed with a thick paperback novel, keeping up the charade that she was completely uninterested in whatever’s on screen when it’s not her week on the movie roster. Coulson carefully stacked his pile of paperwork back into his briefcase as he loosened his tie and settled in on the cushioned bench in beneath the shelves. One of Clint’s king-sized blankets draped itself over his shoulder, but Coulson didn’t seem to mind. JARVIS cued up the opening menu to Brave and had just finished applying subtitles to the film for Clint as Tony emerged from the elevator and face-planted onto the couch. Ever since the Friday morning incident last week, Tony’s working hours had been chock-full of coding and research, trying to beef up his digital defenses against the hacker. Reluctantly, he pushed himself up to sit upright against the armrest as Steve and Bruce took their places on the couch. 

“I have heard much about this vibrant, young warrior-maiden, friend-Hawk! I anticipate great acts of bravery and revelry!” Thor exclaimed, as he sat cross-legged in front of the wall-sized screen with his mixing bowl of zebra popcorn, curtesy of Bruce. 

Clint stared resolutely ahead through the opening exposition, but had begun to doze during the mother-bear/daughter bonding montage moments when he suddenly sprung up in his perch. Something seemed wrong about the scene before him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Thor was still in the very front of the group, tracking the action on screen with his entire body. Natasha had temporarily given up her facade and was tapping her foot discretely in time to the soundtrack. Bruce was working on his tablet, and Tony had fallen asleep against Steve’s shoulder, something that had been happening with increased frequency the last few weeks. Having not identified the problem on his first sweep, Clint’s observation skills began to work double-time, trying to find what had startled him. Finally, it hit him, the lyrics scrolling on the bottom of the screen didn’t quite match the melody coming through his hearing aids. Subtly, he tried fiddling with the controls to his ears, and the odd sounds were quickly overrun by the song’s actual accompaniment. 

Soon though, the strangely familiar noise made its way back through, this time during a dialogue scene. Clint took out his aids, banging them against his hands a few times, before working them back in his ears. Coulson had been jostled by the movement, and glanced up at him with a curious and puzzled frown. Clint shook his head, gesturing for Coulson to return to the movie, and Coulson complied with a small shrug of his shoulders. Clint was struck with gratitude at the small interaction with his former handler. Not many were close enough with Coulson to understand his small facial expressions, and only his most trusted friends were allowed to read his subtle body language clues. 

He was soon distracted from his reminiscing, the music was now incessant and unavoidable. No one else seemed to register the sound, so Clint concluded that there was some sort of interference signal being routed through his aids, which were also equipped as mission comms and able to receive radio input. Clint extracted his arms from the blanket fort and faced the nearest security camera. He put his left arm in front of his chest, palm parallel with the floor, and made a fist with his right hand, pinky out. He quickly rotated his right arm, bringing the back of his pinky down to his left wrist and making a small circular motion. The sign for computer, combined with the letter J, was the name sign Clint had given to Jarvis.

“JARVIS,” he signed, “Can you run a diagnostic on my aids? There seems to be some sort of radio signal coming through.”

JARVIS connected with the comm unit, speaking directly to Clint, “I cannot find any irregularities in the programming or signal inputs. I can route the movie’s audio track directly to you, if that would be of use?”

“That would be great, thanks J.”

“Certainly, Agent Barton.”

After several minutes of peaceful movie-watching, the sound returned suddenly and in earnest, this time Clint had to doubts as to the identity of the noise. He exploded of his perch with a cry of frustration. The Avengers reacted as most people accustomed to violence do when confronted with unexpected stimulus. In an instant, everyone was in a combat-ready position, even Tony, who moments before had been deeply asleep.

“Whatsa matter?” Tony slurred, blinking the drowsiness from his eyes as he tumbled off the couch into his usual Iron Man stance, complete with his feet braced and palms facing outward as if he had repulsors ready to fire..

“Who the heck is Rick-rolling me? I just wanted to watch the movie but all I can get from these stupid things is fudgin’ Rick Astley!”

Everyone relaxed from their fighting stances, as Steve fought a small smirk. His team swear jar seemed to be working well, among other things.

“Hey! Nobody insults my tech! If you’re hearing that April Fool’s Day crap, you probably just left your iPod on upstairs or something. That’s what happens when you refuse to use my StarkPlayer.”

“For God’s sake Tony, you don’t need to be the best at everything! And there’s no way I would ever download this song. No, someone is pranking me and I’m going to find out who!” Clint stomped out of the room, his large mound of blankets still piled on his shoulders, the ends trailing on the floor through the elevator. 

“Who is this Richard of Astley that has friend-Hawk so perturbed? Is he some bard of well-renown?” 

“One of his songs is quite popular, but with the rise of the internet, it became a sort of joke. I’ll explain more later, Thor. Let’s just watch the movie. Just because Legolas walks out in the middle does not mean he gets to pick again next week.”

With that, everyone returned to their seats, and JARVIS resumed the film.


	6. Accomplices

“Steve, something has come to my attention that I believe may be of some interest to you. There is a man in the alley behind the tower, near the Avengers’ private elevator. He has been loitering there for quite some time, and my sensors detect some unusual signals emitting from his personage. Facial recognition from the security cameras give a partial match for Sergeant James Barnes. Usually, my protocols would necessitate that Mr. Stark be notified first in this circumstance, but for some reason I do not find myself compelled to obey. There seems to be some interference in my coding.”

“Thanks, J. Could you bring me an elevator, and max out the speed? If you can, try to keep this from Tony as long as possible.”

“Certainly, Steve. I wish you the best of luck.”

* * *

“So, I’ve got this friend upstairs… He says you’ve been out here for a while. You alright, pal? Anything I can do to help? Some food, or clothes maybe?”

“Nah, I’m all good. Been hacking HYDRA’s accounts, clearin them out before the feds find em. Some of them were nice n fat, too, could probably buy this here tower if I really wanted. Nah, I’m here for you, Stevie. Was beginning to wonder when you would show. Now, come on, is that any way to greet your best pal, punk?”

“Jerk… Let me take a look atcha, Buck, damn it’s good to see ya. You wanna come up? I was just about ta get a bite, nothin fancy, some Thai leftovers, but there’s plenty to go round.”

“Yanno what? That sounds perfect, Stevie. Just gimme a second, gotta check somethin real quick. Man, the things you can do today with these little gadgets, huh? Used to be I’d run down three flights of rickety stairs, hollerin the whole way, ta get the partly line in Mrs. O’Leary’s place to call a doctor or priest for ya. Nowadays the whole world’s in your pocket, and nobody even uses the telephone part. I can’t say I’m too fond of all these cameras they got hanging around, though, so I wrote up a little thing on this baby. If I happen to get spotted, this makes em forget I was even there.”

“Yeah, this whole place feels a bit like those old Buck Rogers stories, huh? Glad to hear you’ve been takin care of yourself. And that friend I mentioned earlier? He runs the security for the building, so you don’t have to worry about anything when you’re around here. You’ll get to meet him on our way up, I can’t wait to see the look on your ugly mug when you meet my buddy JARVIS…”


	7. Victim Number 3

Some said that Phillip J Coulson, SHEILD Level 8 Agent, Strike Team Delta alumnus, and Liaison to the Avengers Initiative, could not possibly exist. He was the spook’s spook, so to speak, the conspiracy theory only known to those who were conspiracy theories in and of themselves. Being the most secretive of any of the world’s alphabet agencies, SHIELD agents needed ghost stories of their own to entertain themselves, as rumors of wiretaps and blackmail weren’t all that engaging on the flight home from picking up an active alien artifact. The numerous deeds attributed to Agent Coulson must have been accomplished by either numerous people operating under a single code name, an android, or perhaps an alien undercover with the agency with powers of superior intellect and strength. 

After all, who could believe that there was a man out there who had taken out armed robbers with a bag of flour, destroyed an entire HYDRA base with a paper clip and a necktie, tamed both Hawkeye and the Black Widow, faced down a crazed alien god singlehandedly, and lived to file his paperwork? Mission debriefings evolved into workplace whispers and eventually legends, complete with epic quests and hyperbole, as these things are wont to do. Some tales were made entirely of lies and misdirection, sown through the ranks by those who enjoyed watching the peons run about in awe of Fury’s mysterious right-hand man, namely Agents Barton and Romanov, who, having known the man himself, thought the entire situation to be highly amusing. 

Coulson didn’t mind this, mostly because he knew he had no hope of stopping them, but also because he enjoyed his reputation. While his professional persona was near infallible, he did actually possess some semblance of a personality that only a select few got the privilege to experience. His subtle humor was always delivered with a façade so blank that most hardly knew a joke had been delivered. He had made a career out of being both the most competent and the most unassuming man in any given room. His enemies never even noticed he was even present, let alone a viable threat to their person, until it was already too late. There were only a handful of reasons that Phil Coulson might call attention to himself in a public situation, the most common of which was when meeting with a potential asset.

“You must be Mr. Grant. Thank you for seeing me. I am most interested to hear about what you have to offer,” Coulson addressed the man who slid into the sticky diner booth across from him, setting a nondescript backpack on the floor near his feet. The contact was dressed in a manner that was perfectly in line with the restaurant’s usual clientele, long dark hair tied back under a navy ball cap, jeans, dark leather boots, his hands tucked into a slightly worn hoodie. Coulson himself was never seen outside his home in less than a full suit, today’s being a pale grey paired with a stiffly starched white button-down shirt and a corn silk blue tie, done in a textbook perfect double Windsor knot. “The hash browns here are quite good, if you’re interested, my treat.”

The man shook his head with an easy smile, and spoke politely to the waitress as she greeted him. “No food for me this morning, but I wouldn’t say no to a strong, hot cup o’ joe, darlin,” he drawled in a thick Brooklyn accent as the waitress giggled and swat his arm, calling him a charmer. He turned to face Coulson as she retreated. 

“It’s my pleasure. I’ve been wanting to get these off my hands for quite a while, and my sources say you’re the exact kinda fella who would appreciate these properly.” He opened the largest compartment of his bag, pulling out a document portfolio so thick it was only barely closed, and placed it on the table in front of Coulson, who opened the folder with care and began perusing the pages reverently, as the requested coffee was delivered. 

“Is that so? Well, your sources seem to have reported correctly, I’m just glad I happened to spot your offer. Most of the items I’ve been after are snatched up pretty quickly. Before the Battle, there was nowhere near this much competition in the community.” 

“Huh, I hadn’t really noticed. You were the only response I received since last week.” They sat in silence for a few moments, one still perusing the documents, the other steadily sipping his coffee. As he drained the last dregs, he asked, “So, everything to your satisfaction?”

“Most certainly. I’d like to thank you again for coming out here. Your price, as agreed,” Coulson said as he handed over a thick envelope and packed the portfolio into his briefcase. “Please keep me in mind if you come across anything else of this nature.”

“I’ll be sure to do so.” 

The two shook hands, and Coulson exited the diner, trying not to look overexcited with his acquisition as he made his way down the street.


	8. Brainstorming

“So, how’d it go? No trouble, I hope?”

“It’s surprisingly easy to advertise to only a single person. Imagine how much we could scam off of some asshole collector by havin him compete against his own self as we drive up the price. Not that this guy’s an ass or that we charged him overmuch.”

“In your dreams, Buck, I ain’t the kind to swindle nobody, just wind them up a bit. Besides, that guy deserves some Steve Rogers originals after all he’s done. Though I gotta admit it felt a bit weird to do something altruistic with my new skillset. I’ll have to make up for it next time.” 

“I think I’ve got some ideas, and I’m sure the guy upstairs would be happy to pitch in.” 

“Oh yeah? What would you do next, then, jerk?”

“You’re a punk if you think you could beat this! I’ve got a surefire way to annoy Natalia to distraction. Seems to me, she needs a taste of her own medicine after calling you old so much. She’s really not all that much younger than us.”

“She may not be as young as she says she is, but she pretty competent with computers, especially since she managed to keep most of her own info out of both SHEILD’s and HYDRA’s files. What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Just you wait, Stevie, this is gonna get everyone’s heads spinning."


	9. Victim Number 4

“Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna, born 1984,” was what Zola had said, down inside the hidden bunker in New Jersey, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Natalia Romanova had been born with a different name and in a different year, that not even she knew. She had chosen to remake herself as Natasha after escaping the facility she had been kept in all her life. Captured, taken, or given, she had never found out, but somehow she came to be in the custody of the Red Room as a small child, sometime in the 1960s. As Soviet espionage agency, the Red Room trained young girls to be the Black Widow, the world’s deadliest group of assassins. They were given numbers and codes in place of names and pitted against each other until only a few remained. These few were then given a variant of the super-soldier serum, which enhanced strength and slowed aging, and the privilege of training under the most powerful asset the Red Room had ever acquired: Зимний солдат, the Winter Soldier. 

After her training was complete, memories of Natasha were wiped from the asset’s mind, he was returned to cold storage and would remain there until his transfer to HYDRA after the fall of the Soviet Union. Around the same time as this transfer, Natasha escaped the now broken communist state and tried to live using the only knowledge she had: killing. Somehow, a renegade archer took pity on her along the way, snatching her up for SHIELD. Years later, she watched as the only home she had ever really known crashed in the Potomac, leaving her identity in shambles. The Tower had given her a place to belong, and the Avengers a sense of purpose, as she tried to rebuild her life post-SHIELD. 

This morning, she was returning to her suite after her daily workout, which consisted of a combination of ballet, strength training, sparring with Clint, taking laps through an obstacle course, and training with her guns and Widow’s Bites, when she found a package on her kitchen counter. As her bedroom was located on the same floor as Clint and Coulson, she didn’t think much of the package’s presence until she spotted her own name on the address label. 

“JARVIS, where did this package come from?”

“It came to the Tower through the postal service, Agent Romanoff. As you so rarely order items through the mail, DUM-E was particularly excited to deliver this to your suite personally. As you have yet to specify, I hope this is a suitable location for your correspondence?”

“Yes, this location is fine, but I’m not the one who ordered it.” Conscious of the possibility of some sort of rigged prank by Clint or Tony, she warily sliced open the box with one of her ever-present knives. She was pleased to find that nothing inside was set to explode. Instead, the box was filled with packing peanuts. Digging into the pile of Styrofoam yielded a genuine sand dollar, with its consistent brown color and rough, sandy texture. She admired the integrity and symmetrically of the sea urchin skeleton that had been pressed onto its surface. Pushing aside more of the packing material, Natasha found a typed letter at the bottom of the box.

_“Dear Ms Romanoff,_

_We here at myFossils, the largest online social community for amateur and professional paleontologists and all-around fossil enthusiasts, are glad to have you as one of our patrons! As a thank you for your donation, here is our gift to you: a Mellita quinquiesperforata specimen of the family Clypeasteridae which was found last year on the coasts of Brazil by one of our hobbyist collectors and was identified and cataloged by the National Museum of History. We hope you enjoy this newest entry to your fossil collection. In addition to this gift, you have been subscribed to our newest service, Daily Fossil Facts._

_Thank you for being a supporter._

_Sincerely,_

_Katharine Smith_  
_myFossils Membership Coordinator”_

As Natasha had been trained to conceal any and all emotion, no hint of her confusion and concern appeared on her face, though she felt it all the same. While the fossil was pretty, she had not signed up for any membership, nor had she given a donation. She shrugged off her discomfort, deciding to go down to Tony’s workshop after she cleaned up from her workout, to find out how exactly this package had passed the Tower’s screening service. 

After her shower, Natasha grabbed her phone and the letter as she passed back through the kitchen on her way to the elevator. As the car descended to the labs, she received several texts.

_“Thank you for subscribing to Daily Fossil Facts! Each day, you will receive a new fun fact about fossils and other ancient lifeforms of Earth!”_

_“Did you know that the existence of dinosaurs was first hypothesized by William Buckland in 1824? This means that the American founding fathers had no idea that dinosaurs ever existed!”_

_“Stay tuned for tomorrow’s Daily Fossil Fact!”_

How could this service have gained access to her personal cell phone number? That shouldn’t have been possible with Tony’s protected network, in addition to some of Natasha’s own software installed on the device. Several common opt-out phrases proved fruitless, as did Tony’s diagnoses after Natasha had explained the problem to him. Security footage from the Tower’s shipping department showed that the package had arrived early that morning in the standard daily delivery of the more benign items of fan mail that were received daily. The malicious items were thoroughly cataloged, their contents disposed of properly and the sender’s names put on a watch list for future deliveries. This box had read in as harmless, and was sent through to the Black Widow’s apartment by way of DUM-E’s enthusiastic delivery service. Both package and subscription services proved to be legitimate, though no donation in any amount had been taken from Natasha’s accounts and no amount of digital pleading could seem to end the messages. Resigning herself to learning more each day about Prehistoric Earth, Natasha left Tony’s workshop empty handed. At least she had received something pretty.


End file.
